Cutting Humor
by KateCyrus
Summary: Dean tries to take care of a reluctant Sam, who argues with him over the best way to bandage a bad cut. Dean’s professional opinion: “Dude, this is gross.” SEQUEL UP! TUNE IN: Dean needs first aid, but all he really wants is Sammy off his back!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: the usual - the characters belong to the Supernatural guys. Don't we all just hate them!

* * *

Dean sits on the hotel bed flipping the stations. He glances at the bathroom door again, then yells. 

"Dude, are you ever coming out of there?"

"No." Dean hears Sam's response. He stands, walks to the door, and tries to turn the knob.

"Open the door." The door clicks open slightly. Dean pushes his way in. "Let me see it." Sam raises his right hand. It's wrapped in a lot of white bandage, blood seeping straight through. "Not you're lame ass bandage job, the actual cut." He grabs for Sam's hand. Sam pulls away, guarding his hand with his body.

"No! Get off. I just got it wrapped. I'm not pulling this off again."

"The way the blood's coming through you're gonna have to change it in five minutes anyway." Sam drops his arms and stares at him blankly.

"Come on." Dean flicks his fingers towards himself urging Sam to pass over his hand. Sam sighs half frustrated, half defeated and holds out his hand. He rolls his eyes to the ceiling and doesn't look back down until…

"Owe!" He tightens his lips and glares at Dean. Dean glances up briefly as he continues to unravel the bandage.

"Sorry," Dean adds quickly. Sam sighs and looks away again. Dean pulls off the remainder of the bandage. It's soaked in blood and the gash across the palm continues to gush blood. "Dude, this is gross."

"Is that your expert opinion?" Asks Sam. Dean looks up at Sam seriously.

"Yes."

"Let go." Sam pulls his hand away and holds it over the sink. He stares at it as the blood runs through the fold of his hand and onto the porcelain. "You're right. It is gross." The color drops from Sam's face. Dean dumps a pile of butterfly closures on the counter.

"Why didn't you use the butterfly closers like I told you to?"

"I don't trust those things."

"Yeah, whatever."

"I'm serious. Besides, you're suppose to use super glue."

"What?"

"Super glue," Sam insists, "to seal the cut."

"Oh, that sounds sanitary."

"Actually, it is.

"Okay college boy. Here." Dean presses a small bath towel on the gash. "Hold this." He lets go. Sam grabs the towel with his uninjured hand, lifts it off the cut, and as told, 'holds it'. Dean just looks at him. He grabs Sam's hand and lowers the towel back down. "On the cut."

"Oh." Sam realizes.

Dean shakes his head and starts to open the butterfly bandages. He exposes the adhesive and lines them up, sticking them off the edge of the sink. He shoots a quick look at his Brother.

"Are you okay? You're as white as the sink."

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"How much blood have you lost?" Dean places another bandage in line.

"I don't know. I lost count around the fifth handful."

"Maybe you should sit down."

"Maybe you should stick those on me, instead of the sink."

"Fine." Dean pulls the towel off Sam's hand. The gash oozes out a thick swell of dark blood. Sam takes one look at it and passes out. He tilts over sideways, taking both Dean and the butterfly closures down with him.

"Woah!" Dean is squashed under Sam's weight. "How can you be this heavy… erah!" He strains, trying and failing to push Sam up. "…when you just lost all that blood?" He rolls Sam off of him and back into a sitting position against the tub. He grabs Sam's hand, and reaches for one of the butterfly closures. They're a mess, stuck to each other and themselves. "Dude… you screwed up my butterflies!" He shakes his head and grabs a small pile of new closures. As he starts to seal the cut, Sam wakes up. He looks around groggy.

"How'd we get on the floor?"

"The butterfly closures went berserk, we had to duck and cover." Dean jerks a thumb towards the ones stuck to the sink.

"Oh." Sam squints, getting a better look. "Told you not to trust 'em." Dean laughs. Sam leans his head back, with a slight smile.

"Yeah, I really need to learn how to listen to you," Dean agrees sarcastically. He finishes with the closures, and wraps Sam's hand in a new white bandage. "You still with me there?" Dean asks, glancing at his Brother with slight concern. Sam leans forward and opens his eyes. He sighs a deep breath.

"Do I have to look at the cut again?" Dean puts a final piece of tape on the bandage.

"Nope!"

"Than I'm fine."

"Think you can make it to the bed?" Dean says standing.

"If it's next to the toilet."

"Wow, you are hilarious tonight. You'd make a great sit down comic." Sam looks up.

"Are you gonna help me, or heckle me?" Dean holds out a hand. Sam looks at his injury, then at Dean.

"Right." Dean reaches down and helps Sam to his feet. Sam reaches his good hand across Dean's back, and they stumble through the room towards the bed. "Again," Dean complains, "why are you so damn heavy?".

"Well, ya know, you got the looks. And I got the…"

"Dude! Don't even go there!" Dean dumps Sam on the bed. Sam snickers and pulls himself back towards the headboard, lying down.

"So… happy I finally let you take care of me?" Dean looks at him like he's crazy.

"Oh yeah, thrilled. I mean, why get a job when I've got you twenty-four seven? Except, ya know, the pay is crap."

"True, but the health benefits kick ass."

"Oh, that reminds me." Dean smiles as he drops onto the other bed. "I'm not in your PPO plan. You own me a hundred and twenty eight dollars." He shuts the light off. "Goodnight!" Sam sighs and pulls the covers over himself as he listens to his Brother snicker.

"It's good to know you can still crack yourself up."

"Yeah…" Dean continues to laugh. "I'm a funny guy." Sam cracks up.

"You're an idiot." Sam rolls over. It's quiet for a moment. Then Dean cracks up again.

"What?" Sam has to know.

"Sit down comic!" Dean's giggles surge.

"Goodnight Dean." Dean's giggles die down. He lets out a big sigh.

"Whoooo! Night Sammy."

* * *

Hope you liked. Don't forget to check out chapter 2 - A Brother's Bond. 

And reviews make my day - so all are appreciated - the good, the bad, and the constructive. Thanks!


	2. A Brother's Bond

Cutting Humor – A Brother's Bond

This was originally intended to be a oneshot, but now I guess it's not. It's not a second chapter either, it's more of a sequel by request.

Someone asked for the flipside, "I'd love it if you did another chapter where it's Dean who gets cut and Sam has to take care of him." Well, that was all it took to get my mind running, and now…. here ya go…

* * *

Four weeks and six hotels later…

"Okay college boy, let's hurry this up."

"Yeah well, the clock starts when you get over here and let me look at it." Sam sits on the closed lid of the toilet, holding a small bag of medical supplies. He's pulled the desk chair in for Dean to sit on, its tall wooden back set against the sink. All he needs now, is Dean.

Dean is in the main room, twisting awkwardly, attempting to see his back in the dresser mirror. "Damn it! It's a mess."

"I wouldn't know," Sam yells impatiently from the bathroom. Dean finally gives up, walks over, and turns his back to Sam.

"Fine. Here. Look." Dean's shirt is slashed open, and dripping with blood. The fabric hangs, mostly covering a long painful gash across the upper right side of his back.

"Yeah, you're shirt's in the way," Sam says.

"What, you can't see it through the gaping hole?"

"No, not really."

"Oh," Dean turns to face him, "so when that bastard slashed my back open, my shirt pulled a David Copperfield and stayed in one piece?"

"Dean, quit being a pain in my ass, and just take off your shirt."

"No." Sam can't believe the tone in Dean's voice, if he didn't know any better, he'd say Dean was…

"I'm sorry, are you… pouting?"

"Yes." Dean says still pouting.

"Um… okay." Sam is a bit caught off guard.

"That bastard destroyed my favorite shirt." Sam reads the back of Dean's shirt through the growing blood stain. It has the words 'Black Sabbath' across the top, with a list of cities surrounding the image.

"I thought your favorite shirt was the Metallica with the star thing on the front?"

"Oh, right," Dean says. "That bastard destroyed my second favorite shirt."

"Well, destroyed or not, you still need to take it off."

Dean sighs hard. "Fine." He reaches and pulls the shirt off over his head, dragging blood up the back of his neck, and all through his hair.

"Maybe we can fix it," Sam suggest. Dean continues to tug at the shirt, which is awkwardly caught on his head. It pulls into a deformed stretch, then gives way to a long and horrendous rip. "Well, probably not now," Sam adds.

"Crap!" Dean holds the destroyed T in a messy heap. "It's completely trashed." He gazes at it longingly. Sam puts a caring hand on his Brother's shoulder.

"Do we need to hold a memorial?" Sam smirks.

"Shut up!" Dean tosses his shirt in the trash can. Sam tries to look at Dean's back, but Dean is still fidgeting about restlessly. Sam rolls his eyes, grabs Dean hard by the shoulders, and forces him down onto the chair. Dean sits facing the sink, his legs straddling the chair, his arms crossed and pressing into its high back. He shoots Sam a dirty glance, but Sam disregards it and gets to work. He wipes the cut down, finally getting a good look.

"It's not as bad as I thought," Sam admits, "but you still might need stitches."

"How 'bout no," Dean states. Sam sighs, heavily exhausted by his Brother's non-stop attitude. He rummages through the bag on the toilet, and pulls out a tube of superglue, still attached to the cardboard packaging. Dean twists slightly, his eyes landing on Sam's hands.

"What'd you think you're doing with that?"

"I'm gonna close the cut." Sam explains, waiting to hear what the problem is now.

"Dude, it's my back, not a model plane." Dean turns fully around, guarding himself.

"Don't be a baby." Sam pulls the cap off and pokes the top open. "Turn around." He steps toward Dean, holding the glue out in an aggressive manner. Dean stands abruptly.

"Whoa! Put the glue down MacGyver!"

"Are you kidding me? Dean, this stuff's totally safe."

"Says who?"

"It's all over the internet."

"So's porn, but you don't see me trying out everything I see there!" He pauses a moment to reflect. "Well, maybe some of it."

"Dean!" Sam watches as Dean darts towards the toilet, shoves his hand into the bag of supplies, and angrily rummages through.

"Where are they?"

"Where are what?"

"They! The butterfly closures!"

"Good God!" Sam says. "What's this freakin' obsession you have with butterfly closures?" Dean turns and glares at Sam.

"Why aren't they here?"

"We're out, that's why. They were either used, or mangled when I cut my hand, so it's the glue, or the emergency room. You choose!" Dean takes in a deep breath and looks as if he's about to yell, then stops himself. He calms down slightly, then surprisingly resigns and sits back down in the chair.

"You'd better be right about this," he demands. Sam jumps to it before Dean can change his mind. He wipes the blood away for the second time, then rushes through putting the glue on. He squeezes the cut closed with his right hand, then pours out a thick line of glue, covering the gash completely. He holds it together for over a minute, then turns and looks at the tube.

Dean hears Sam mumbling something behind him. His eyes shift about suspiciously. He turns his head.

"Are you reading the directions?" Dean says incredulously.

"Maybe."

"Haven't you done this before?"

"Quiet, I don't know how long it needs to set."

"What? Give it to me!" Dean grabs the tube away. Sam stands in a frustrated huff, as Dean works his way through the label instructions. "Bla bla bla, bonds surfaces, bla bla… warnings. Glue may damage fabrics. Good thing I took my shirt off. Glue may cause irritation. Yeah, I'm pretty irritated."

"Dean, please!" Sam begs.

"Wait," Dean says throwing a hand up, "bonds skin instantly."

"Instantly?" A small detail occurs to Sam.

"So we're good."

"Uh…" As Sam tries to let go of the cut, his eyes scrunch shut and he bites his lower lip. "That depends on your definition of good."

"What'd you mean?" Dean doesn't like Sam's tone.

"Huh… well… you uh… you might be stuck with me."

"You didn't!" Dean stands abruptly; Sam's hand jerks along, stuck fast to his back.

"Owe!" Both Bothers cry out in unison.

"Awe… Sam..." Dean whines.

"It worked," Sam smiles sheepishly, "the cut's closed."

"Perfect!"

"Check the tube," Sam says, "there's gotta be something that removes it." Dean goes back to scanning the instructions, finally blurting out…

"Nail polish remover."

"Great, do we have any?"

"I don't know princess, do _you_?"

"Um…" Sam tries to think this out. "We could go to the emergency room."

"Yeah, cause that's just how I wanna spend my night. Sitting in the ER, with my kid Brother glued to my back!"

"I could be glued worse places." Sam suggests weakly. Dean slowly turns and gives him a perplexed annoyed look.

"Dude!"

"I'm just saying…"

"Well stop." Dean thinks for a moment. "Where's the box, maybe there's more instructions." Sam grabs the box out of the garbage and scans it.

"It says we can try warm soapy water."

"Water? They write 'polish remover' on the tube, but the slab of card board you throw out says 'water'?"

"Warm soapy water," Sam corrects. "You wanna try it?" Dean stares at Sam, wondering if his Brother has lost his mind. "Right," Sam says, and reaches for the bar of hotel soap on the sink. Dean quickly stops him.

"That shit's never gonna work, hang on, I'll be right back." Dean starts to leave, but Sam grabs his arm.

"Hello! Glued to you!"

"Oh, right. Come on." They awkwardly shuffle to the main room. Dean opens his bag and rummages through it. "Here." He hands Sam a bottle of liquid bath soap, and keeps rummaging.

"What's this?" Sam asks.

"It's soap."

"I can see that, but..." Sam stops short as Dean pulls out a puffy purple mesh bath pouf. "Are you… are you holding a bath koosh?"

"A what?" Dean questions.

"A koosh."

"Dude, what the hell is a koosh?"

"I don't know, the thing you're holding."

"It has a name?"

"Well what do you call it?"

"I don't. It's just the thingy that makes the bubbles."

"You like bubbles."

"I don't have a problem with them. Although, I'm starting to have a problem with you."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll a… " Sam snickers to himself. "…get off your back."

"Yeah, that's real funny. Now move." Dean guides them back to the bathroom, as Sam reads the soap container.

"Lavender and chamomile?"

"The hotel soap dries out my skin," Dean snaps. As they enter the bathroom, he kicks the desk chair out of the way. Sam continues to read.

"Stress relieving shower massage."

"I need like a gallon of that shit after an average day with you. Now give it to me." He grabs the soap from Sam and pours some onto the bath pouf. He runs it under the water and rubs it, building up the suds, then harshly hands it back to Sam. "See, bubbles! Now get to work!"

"Yes sir, Mr. Bubbles." Sam starts to gently scrub away at the adhesive while Dean grips the sink.

"Koosh… what'd you read that on the internet too?" Dean mocks impatiently. Sam begins a casual confrontation.

"So ah…. butterflies and bubbles… lavender and stress massages… are you _sure_ there wasn't nail polish remover in your bag?"

"Is it working or what?"

"Almost."

"Yeah well, hurry it up Hot Lips," Dean snaps at him, finally pushing Sam past his breaking point. Sam stops scrubbing, and yanks harshly at his last stuck finger.

"Owe!" Dean yells as the quick but sharp pain pulses through his back.

"I'm off." Sam smiles smugly.

"Yeah, thanks for the great bed side manner," Dean walks away, and throws himself onto the first available bed. He grabs the TV remote, and clicks through the stations on mute. Sam leans in the doorframe of the bathroom watching his Brother, his face deep in thought. After a minute, he walks to the other bed, grabs his bag, and starts going through it, slowly pulling out everything he owns. Finally, he locates what he's looking for. He throws the folded square of fabric at his Brother. It hits Dean in the chest, then falls into his lap.

"What' the…" Dean grabs it and looks at it. "This is a bran new Black Sabath tour shirt."

"I know."

"It's just like mine. Where the hell did you get this?"

"From you."

"What?"

"Dean, you dragged me to that concert, something about educating me properly. Then you drank yourself into a stupor, and closed the night by buying us matching shirts."

"But this looks new," Dean furrows his brow, "have you ever worn it?"

"Nope."

"That's just sacrilege."

"Whatever, guess your teaching methods didn't stick."

"Wait, if you don't wear it, why do even still have it?" Dean asks.

"Well," Sam pauses, then shrugs, "because you gave it to me."

Dean just blinks, absorbing the moment. "Sammy… I don't know what to say man." He stares at the shirt, genuinely touched.

"You're not gonna cry on me are you?"

"I think I'll pull through," Dean says, his tone switching back to sarcasm. Sam shows a faint smile, as Dean pulls the shirt on.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." Sam picks through his stuff, grabbing a pair of shorts and a shirt. Without glancing up, he has to ask. "So, how long have you been hiding the girl soap from me?"

"Don't knock my soap," Dean threatens. "That stress relieving shit works."

"Does it relieve chronic stress induced by you?"

"Actually, yeah. The box says 'relieves Dean induced stress'. I'd show it to you, but I threw it out."

"Uh hu."

"Try it if you don't believe me."

"Fine, I will."

"Whatever," Dean adds. As Sam heads into the bathroom, Dean shouts after him. "Just keep your sticky hands off my freakin' koosh!"

* * *

Well there ya have it! As I said before, all reviews are appriciated, so if you've got the time, let me know what you think : )  



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